


Five times Rodney McKay said 'Nice kissing' to John Sheppard, and one time he meant it

by blahblahwoofwoof



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: 5 Times, Kissing, M/M, Mostly canon but with a McShep twist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-29 11:03:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6372259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blahblahwoofwoof/pseuds/blahblahwoofwoof
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's canon that Rodney McKay has said "Nice kissing!" to John Sheppard.  Here's some other times he might have said it, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five times Rodney McKay said 'Nice kissing' to John Sheppard, and one time he meant it

John bounded down Atlantis’ hallways, making a concerted effort not to whistle a jaunty tune or allow his bounding to transform into outright skipping. His basket full of picnic goodies was a nice solid weight in his palm and he was looking forward to an enchanted evening at the South West Pier, appreciating many fine views, from the city spires lit up at night, to lovely alien priestesses.

Nothing could dampen his mood, not McKay’s unfounded dislike of Chaya, nor the hissy fit he was going to throw when he found out John had swiped the last of the hot chocolate and the blue jello cups, nope, not even… oh.

“Evening Teyla,” greeted John, damping down his enthusiasm a little, while picking up the pace, hoping Teyla was on her way somewhere… else.

Teyla eyed the picnic basket, managing to communicate her disdainful curiosity without saying a word.

“Dr Weir wanted me to make sure Chaya saw everything,” John supplied, feeling like an awkward teen.

“Everything?” Teyla asked.

“Well, not everything everything,” John hurried to explain. “Chaya mentioned she wanted to see the best view of the city at night, which _I_ think is atop the South West Pier, and since it’s such a long walk I thought I might bring along a few provisions.”

“Continuing our efforts to secure a treaty.” Teyla’s eyebrow of disdain had morphed into twin eyebrows of mocking suspicion now.

“Exactly, yeah!” exclaimed John, and bounced on his toes a little, trying to buoy the mood and dispel all this pesky doubt.

“As our ambassador,” said Teyla, almost without inflection, which seemed somehow to lend even more meaning to her words. John wasn’t having any of that. 

“I am an ambassador, and she is a diplomat,” he proudly declared. Ambassador. He quite liked the sound of that.

“On a late night… picnic?”

“Yes!” John bravely battled on through all these obstacles of doubt Teyla was trying to stir up. He would triumph, he was an Ambassador after all.

“I know that as the ranking military officer here in Atlantis that you feel a heavy burden of responsibility. But you are allowed to have feelings for others…” Teyla’s mood seemed to have switched from playfully dubious to grave, and John floundered in the wake of the sudden course change. 

“Oh, oh no, this is an ambassadorial diplomatic picnic, you know…” he stuttered, panicking that Teyla was coming onto him, but… that didn’t seem right.

“… without having to having to justify them to anyone,” Teyla stopped in front of him, blocking his path, and reached out to put her hand lightly on his chest. “… and no matter who their object is. Goodnight Major.”

Teyla left as quickly as she had arrived, leaving him a little dizzy, very confused and, for some reason, fighting a little niggle of guilt. John realised he was staring after Teyla and gaping like a fish, so he drew himself up, thought Ambassadorial thoughts and headed on over to the transporter for his rendezvous.

All in all, it turned out to be a pretty darn pleasant evening, and he reckon he’d ambassadored the heck out of Chaya. He’d escorted her back to her quarters, where they’d negotiated the treaty a little more with their lips, and then he’d left, making a very Ambassadorial exit.

Of course, as per this evening’s theme, he was immediately ambushed _again_ , this time by McKay, who looked tired and foul tempered enough to destroy even John’s good mood.

And, as per usual, McKay, with his characteristic bluntness, went straight for the kill.

“Word of caution?” he sneered, “The whole Captain Kirk routine is problematic to say the least, let alone morally dubious.”

John narrowed his eyes, mentally daring McKay to just keep going. “What routine?” he asked, keeping his tone flat.

“Romancing the alien priestess? It’s very 1967 of you. Actually, I’m surprised -”

“If and when anything I do becomes your business -” snarled John in response.

“It becomes my business when an alien woman who is clearly not who she claims to be has the ranking military officer wrapped around her little finger!”

“Don’t go there McKay,” warned John. He could feel a spark of rage building inside him.

“I’m sorry, I know I’m not normally Mister Sensitive but you’ve gotta believe me when I say there is something about her. I know it’s intangible, but I can feel it-”

“I said don’t go there!” John felt something snap inside him, the rage with McKay, the unplaced guilt from his conversation with Teyla earlier, his frustration with not being able to have what he wanted, just this once, all boiling together, causing the last of his patience to disappear.

“It’s just a matter of time before I prove it Major. I’m just recommending that in the meantime you keep your-”

John wasn’t entirely sure what would have happened if McKay had finished that sentence, but Chaya chose that moment to emerge from her quarters and direct an unhappy glare their way. John had finally had enough- it all felt so sordid and ridiculous, like he was trapped between two bickering rivals. John flung one last look of disgust at McKay, not caring when he physically flinched away, and stormed off back to his quarters.

Later, when he returned from Proculus, sneaking the jumper down into the bay like a teenager out past curfew, he foolishly counted his blessings before they hatched. He’d assumed that since it was well into the early morning hours on Atlantis he would be able to sneak back to his quarters and put all this melodramatic soap opera behind him. Instead he nearly bit his tongue in fright when he emerged from the jumper to find McKay standing there, arms crossed, looking like the proverbial fishwife.

“Christ, McKay!” he exclaimed once he’d gotten his heartbeat under control. “It was only kissing for god’s sake!”

“Nice kissing, was it?” sneered McKay. “So nice you couldn’t bother to let us know you were still, oh, I don’t know, alive and not a dried up old mummy with stupid hair!”

John felt a little of his anger deflate and he sighed, suddenly very tired.

“Look, Rodney, I had to go back. It wasn’t about Chaya, it was those people. They’ve never known the Wraith, and it turns out I took away the only thing protecting them. I just, I couldn’t, you know?”

McKay seemed to wilt as well, his face crumpled into concern and his hands fluttered worriedly.

“So, were they? Alright, I mean. Chaya got back in time?”

“Yeah, she did. And she did this mind-meld-sharing thing with me, explained why she can’t let anyone settle there.”

McKay harrumphed and rolled his eyes. “Let me guess, their stupid Ancient non-interference rule?”

“Yeah, sucks being on the other end of the Prime Directive, hey?” John smiled, threw an arm over Rodney’s shoulder, and steered them both out of the bay, towards the transporter and, hopefully, their respective beds.

“I think we’ve all had enough of the real-life Star Trek lately,” Rodney grouched.

Later, as he was drifting off into sleep, John realised Rodney hadn’t even said “I told you so” or demanded John recognise he’d been right about Chaya. And that was about as close as you could get to an olive branch from one Dr. Rodney McKay (PhD PhD). The last knot of guilt loosened in his chest at that thought, and he smiled and slipped away into sweet dreams.

 

* * *

 

John rocketed awake, heart pounding, hand automatically reaching for his thigh holster, brain switching rapidly through an internal status update. Tent. Rodney. Nighttime. PRX-379. Trade mission. Rodney. 

Right. Rodney. AKA the octopus currently suffocating him, arm thrown over his, bony knees poking into his legs (seriously, how could someone as… soft as Rodney have such bony knees? They were deadly weapons!) and, ah yes, chin currently hooked over John’s shoulder, mouth making snuffly noises right next to his ear. Lovely. Just… lovely.

“Radek, put down the duck goddammit!”

John jumped as Rodney muttered into his ear, making the reason for his rude awakening suddenly obvious. It seemed that Rodney was talking in his sleep- which was a new addition to his ever-challenging nighttime routine.

They’d shared a tent in forests, on desert planets, through humid nights and bitterly cold winter blizzards. On John’s favourite kind of missions, the ones without the running and the shooting (well, not too much running and shooting) and the fairly well-developed societies where the natives didn’t want to steal their technology, or McKay’s brain, or duel with Ronon, or ply them with rotgut that could strip the paint off the walls, on those kinds of missions they got put up in nice rooms (but always sharing because John was strict about the buddy system when they were on a mission) - and he’d always end up sharing with Rodney, which meant he got to witness the Bedtime Routine (capitalisation fully intended). 

Every. Single. Time.

The laying out of the sleeping bag (or inspection of the bedding if they’d scored a room). The unpacking of the Off-world Nighttime Kit (seriously, how did Rodney fit all this shit in his pack - John made the mistake of questioning the inclusion of the nail-clippers once, only to be on the receiving end of a ten minute lecture about nail care, hangnails and the many dangers of infection - “Once the infection reaches your heart John, that’s it, you’re a goner!”). The bathroom visit for pre-bedtime ablutions. The return and subsequent fussing with the pack. The compression socks that Rodney wore every night _without fail_ and then finally (finally!) the getting into bed. Followed of course by the requisite ten minutes of shuffling, sighing and squirming until Rodney found a position he was comfortable with, and then, with all the aerodynamic finesse of a rock falling out of the sky, Rodney would drop into a deep sleep almost instantly.

The thing was, it could have been infuriating, but really it was just so Rodney that John had gotten used to it. Plus there was that time on PRN-128 when the Jax had invited them to their harvest festival and the rotgut had turned out to be your better tasting rotgut, but still very strong, and he got to watch the brilliant genius Rodney McKay spend ten minutes struggling to put on his compression socks before John took pity on him and helped out a buddy. That’d been funny and had provided some good ribbing material the next day, once everyone’s hangovers had dissipated a little.

No, the bit that tested John’s patience was what would happen after. McKay always left plenty of space between them when he went to sleep, but John would inevitably wake up a few hours later with Rodney attached to him like a limpet, snuffling in his ear, poking him with those damn boney knees and putting out heat like a furnace.

The first few times John had poked and shoved and elbowed him until he rolled over, or shuffled away, muttering in his sleep but never really quite waking up. And then John would wake up an hour or so later with Rodney reattached. Unfortunately it turned out that Rodney slept better (and therefore complained less the next day) if he just let him be. And then there was that time on Hoth (as PRV-207 was so affectionately dubbed) when they were stuck in that blizzard and he’d actually been grateful for the extra warmth. After that he reasoned that he was probably sleeping better anyway, having Rodney within reach and knowing he hadn’t wandered off (as the easily-distracted scientist was prone to do) and so waking up at some point with Rodney doing his octopus impression just became part of the routine.

And so John had adapted to all of Rodney’s charming little bedtime quirks. This sleep talking was a disturbing new development, though.

“Mmmm, Maree, come here, let me kiss you on your little nose…”

John’s heart began to accelerate again, and he tensed and fought the urge to reach for his thigh holster as Rodney began making kissing noises in his ear.

“Such nice kissing… are you a good girl?”

Rodney’s hand twitched where it lay against John’s chest and he began to gently stroke it, at which point John executed a black ops escape technique so rapidly and flawlessly that his instructors would have wept to witness it, and slithered out of the tent. Resolutely not thinking about what had just happened John joined Teyla by the campfire and magnanimously offered to cover the remainder of her watch. When the sun rose a couple of hours later, he was much calmer and more collected.

By the time Rodney dragged himself out of the tent and to the campfire coffeepot, John was even ready to see the humour of the situation - and to explore the possibilities of poking the pre-second-coffee grizzly McKay bear.

“So who’s Maree then?” he asked, once McKay had inhaled half a cup.

Rodney turned the full force of his morning glare on him.

“What?” he snapped.

“You were talking in your sleep last night.”

A wistful look passed over McKay’s face and he clutched the mug in his hands, staring into the fire.

“Oh, you mean Marie Curie.”

John blinked. He felt pretty sure that Rodney would have mentioned that he’d made out with a Nobel Prize winner before. In fact John was pretty sure he’d never shut up about it. He’d probably include it in every introduction (“Rodney McKay - smartest man in two galaxies, once frenched Marie Curie”).

“She was my cat. Cutest little button nose. So friendly, used to let me give her cat kisses.”

Rodney sighed deeply, gaze still distant, obviously adrift in cat memories and John suddenly lost the urge to continue with his plan of poke-the-scientist. He never could figure out what to do with Rodney when he started talking about his cat. He always got so soft and sad, and the normally abrasive and sharp scientist would start spouting improbable phrases like “little button nose”.

John reached into his pack, pulling out a power bar and wordlessly passed it over to McKay, who accepted it automatically, and they both gazed into the campfire together in silence, contemplating cute noses.

John frowned.

“OK, but where does the duck fit in?”

 

* * *

 

John was sure he’d never felt more tired. At this point he didn’t know how long he’d been up - it felt like days since the Asurans had attacked Atlantis and they’d had to flee the planet. It probably had been days, but with everything so frantic in between, and without an actual planet with sunrises and sunsets, it was hard to accurately measure the time.

Even though exhaustion pulled at every limb, he couldn’t afford to relax, as they weren’t out of danger yet. He, Rodney and Ronon had returned from the Replicator city, without Elizabeth, but with a ZPM. Radek was installing the ZPM and now Rodney was walking them through options for a new home for Atlantis, one that Elizabeth couldn’t know about.

Like everything else, his grief about Elizabeth was muted right now, buried underneath exhaustion and his iron resolve to protect his people and find them a new, safe home.

“It’s got a stable atmosphere, big ocean,” stated Rodney, bring up the next option on the display. “Besides the large particularly venomous snake-like creature that inhabits the mainland, it looks to be a welcoming environment.”

He looked to John, who reminded himself that beggars can’t be choosers, and gave an affirmative nod. Home, sweet home.

They engaged the hyperdrive and emerged right on the doorstep of a beautiful blue welcoming globe. John felt the first glimmer of relief in days.

“We did it!” he breathed, as they all moved over to the large windows to get a better view.

“Well, there’s still the small matter of landing this thing,” cautioned Rodney.

“Yeah, I’ll just jump in the chair, and ease us down,” replied John, eager to get it done now that they were so close to sanctuary.

“Well, that could be tricky. We drained a lot of power from the ZPM just getting here.”

“Is there enough energy to keep the shield up for re-entry?” queried John impatiently.

“Better be,” grimaced Rodney. “Well, a city this size will create considerable friction if we come in too fast or too steep, and the shield could attenuate under the stress and the whole place could be torn to shreds, or burn up, or both-”

John curled his lip, frustration and anger spiking sharply through him.

“It never ends with you, you know,” he spat at McKay, and moved off towards the Chair room, tossing parting advice over his shoulder, “Tell everyone to buckle up, we’re going in.”

Settling into the Chair was a relief, feeling Atlantis’ systems come online and engage quietly and perfectly with his mind was like a breath of fresh air. He took a moment to find the best and closest place to land the city and plot a simple re-entry course. While he was doing that another part of his mind dealt with the many alerts and complaints Atlantis was raising with regards to the damaged and beat up city- they’d have to take care of that once they landed.

Once he had the course plotted he started moving the city towards the planet’s atmosphere. Flying the city had to be the most incredible and the most indescribable experience of his life. Through the Chair he was able to viscerally experience aspects like the city’s shield, power levels, even a sense of inertia, as though he was the city. He could feel the moment when they entered the atmosphere of the planet, like pushing through a fog, but one that offered tangible resistance. He could feel the strength of the shield, the power drainage from the ZPM, the pressure on the city’s structures- but these sensations weren’t akin to anything physical, he couldn’t describe them, they were like the parts of a dream that just couldn’t be put into words.

John could feel that the angle was too steep, the strain this was putting on the shields making him grit his teeth, but at the same time he was tracking the power drainage from the ZPM, and he knew they had to set down as soon as possible.

“Sheppard,” shouted Rodney, his voice coming over the radio clearly despite the groaning and creaking of the city around him, “We’re coming in too steep, you need to ease up on the angle of re-entry!”

John couldn’t spare any effort in answering him, he was too busy trying to get the thrusters to battle the bulky inertia of the city, attempting to ease up the angle of re-entry, but not so abruptly that the shields couldn’t handle it.

Aerodynamic equations danced in his mind as he juggled all the systems, the city herself rapidly offering up data and trajectories to help.

“Ease up on the angle,” barked McKay.

“I heard you the first time Rodney,” John shot back at him.

“And yet we’re still coming in too steep,” Rodney snarked right back.

They were finally gaining some ground on easing up their trajectory when Atlantis alerted him that the landing site was coming in range. He could hear Bill Lee confirm via the comms that they were over the ocean.

“Sheppard!” — Rodney’s panicked voice squawked in his ear — “Sheppard, you need to slow down, we’re coming in over the water!”

“Copy that,” John gritted out, desperately trying to slow the city’s descent, warring with his own desire to just land already, the calm blue ocean like a siren call.

“Still too fast,” warned Rodney, “Slow down! You want to touch down gently, like a, like a leaf kissing the surface of a pond!”

Atlantis screamed towards the ocean’s surface and John poured every ounce of his being into controlling and cushioning that landing, one last desperate blast of the thrusters, angling the city to try and land as safely as possible. The city crashed onto the surface, almost submerged completely for just a moment, then bobbed back up merrily.

John took a few moments to breathe, ignored McKay’s sarcastic “Nice kissing!”, and carefully disengaged from the Chair.

“Colonel Sheppard, we made it,” announced Sam, “The city’s floating safely on the ocean.”

He’d done it. They’d made it to their new home. He’d kept his people safe.

“Excellent landing,” praised Sam.

“Thank you,” said John, not sure who he was really thanking, or what for.

He’d wandered out of the Chair room, heading back up to the Control room, stopping every now and then to help out anyone who needed an extra set of hands. The strange numb feeling persisted, like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. In the Control room everyone was busy with their own tasks, and he couldn’t see Rodney or Sam anywhere, so he wandered out onto the balcony.

He’d been standing there awhile, transfixed at the sight of two moons in the sky, when he heard someone join him.

“There you are,” exclaimed Rodney, coming to stand next to him at the railing.

John turned to him and gestured up at the sky, “Two moons!”

“Actually there are five,” Rodney waved his hands around, clearly still a little manic from all the excitement, “It’s just that these are the only two visible to the naked eye.”

“Really? Huh. Heard you and Carter got us reconnected back to the intergalactic bridge.”

“Oh, yes,” Rodney answered dismissively, “General Landry was very happy to hear from us- but that’s not the best news!”

John raised an eyebrow, not sure what to expect - hitherto undiscovered stockpile of blue jello? Coffee plants growing natively on the mainland?

“Long range scanners have detected an attack fleet launching from the Asuran homeworld. But they’re not coming for us, they’re heading towards a Wraith planet. The attack code worked! I just, I can’t believe we did it.”

The shock John felt at Rodney’s announcement was suddenly overwhelmed by grief, and John saw Elizabeth again in his mind’s eye, shouting at them to go.

“Well,” he said, choking his words past the tight lump in his throat, “we had a lot of help.”

Rodney nodded sombrely, clearly lost in thoughts about Elizabeth as well.

“I haven’t given up hope,” John declared, “If there’s a chance she’s still alive, I’ll find her.”

There was a small smile on Rodney’s face and his eyes were bright with some emotion as he looked at John, but for once he couldn’t read the expression on Rodney’s face.

“I know,” said Rodney, his words heavy with conviction and he raised his hand, putting it on John’s shoulder as they turned back to the twin moons in the sky.

A warm and spicy breeze blew across the water and pushed away the stale and burnt smell of the city. Rodney’s hand was a warm and heavy presence on his shoulder, and John finally felt tethered and settled, as though this was the moment the city had really landed and they were all finally safe.

 

* * *

 

John stifled a sneeze, trying to keep alert despite the cold damp air of the abandoned facility. He was in the doorway of what looked to be the main control room, keeping watch while McKay poked around the consoles, trying to find any clues that the facility had been in recent use by Michael. With Teyla missing for six days now, what was left of his team was getting grimmer and less hopeful as they hunted down every lead, no matter how remote, only to find no trace of her, Michael or anything connected to him.

Some intel had come in third hand from the Genii, via the Manarians, about a possible Wraith facility, hidden in the woods of this world, exactly the sort of place Michael might lurk in, conducting his freaky experiments. From what John had seen so far, it didn’t look like anyone had been here in decades, maybe even hundreds of years - the place was dirty, falling down, cold and damp, matching John’s spirits.

“Anything?” he asked McKay, looking back into the room where the scientist was messing about with the consoles, trying to find out something about the facility.

Rodney sighed and stilled. “No, it’s dead. Been dead for a few hundred years, I think.”

“OK,” said John. “Let’s get out of here then, head back to Atlantis, Sam might have news for us.”

Rodney shrugged, indicating what he thought the likelihood of that would be, and began packing away his equipment. John called Ronon back from his exploration of the rest of the facility and watched McKay. Rodney was uncharacteristically quiet lately, getting more sombre as each day passed and they got no closer to finding Teyla.

Truth be told none of them were really coping with the situation all that well, it was just that he and Ronon channelled their frustration and fears into activities like training, or running, or missions like these where they chased down what they knew were useless leads but still felt like they were doing something. Whereas, judging from the man’s gaunt frame and the dark circles under his eyes, Rodney’s coping mechanisms weren’t helping him cope at all.

Ronon found them just as McKay finished packing up and they headed toward the facility’s exit. John blinked in the bright sunlight, murky though it was in the dense forest, it was still a sharp contrast to the darkness of the facility.

“Let’s head back-“ John started to say, when suddenly a shot rang out, whistling past his head and ricocheting off the wall behind him. John dove for cover, seeing McKay and Ronon do the same out of the corner of his eye.

The attackers opened up then, letting forth a volley that kept them firmly pinned down behind the solid rubble of the facility. To John’s practiced ear he thought he could hear a range of heavy arms - that was maybe the rough report of a Genii rifle, and that was definitely a Wraith blaster. John carefully poked his head around his rock, trying to determine where the shooters were. He’d managed to spot likely positions for two of them before he had to retreat.

John looked over to McKay and Ronon, indicating with hand signals that he needed them to lay down some covering fire. Rodney nodded and looked to Ronon, co-ordinating their response as reached up over their hiding places and began laying down covering fire, Rodney with his handgun, Ronon with his blaster. After a few seconds John jumped up from his crouch, directing his P90 to the two locations he’d identified and firing short controlled bursts.

John ducked back down and gave the kill signal to Ronon and Rodney. After a few seconds of silence one of the attackers made a break for it, trying to flee, only to be quickly felled by Ronon, body crashing to the ground and smoking slightly. John gave the silence a few more seconds before emerging from behind the rock, P90 at the ready.

“Life signs, McKay?”

“Checking,” Rodney replied, bringing up the scanner and checking the interface. “Nothing but us for a few hundred meters.”

All three of them emerged from their cover, and John walked over to one of the locations he’d fired at, discovering a body slumped over, blood staining the forest floor. He nudged the body over with his foot, running his eye over the man’s clothing and equipment. Looked like a mercenary, one of the increasingly more common groups of marauders who gated from world to world, trying to stay ahead of the Wraith and stealing and extorting from whatever communities they found. Jesus - John couldn’t decide if this was a stupid waste, or a good thing that at least these thugs couldn’t harm anyone else now. John had enough experience with war to know those thoughts weren’t going to lead anywhere good, so he shut them down and turned to McKay instead.

Nodding towards the scanner he ordered, “Expand the range, let’s make sure none of their friends are nearby.”

Rodney hunched over the device, checking the results. “No, all clear, no other life signs all the way to the gate.” Rodney frowned, looked up, then walked over to some dense brush, looking between the scanner and the brush as he did so. Suddenly he cried out, dropped the scanner and got down on his knees, pushing the foliage away from something. Alarmed, John moved forward, ready to drag Rodney away from danger, but pulled up short at what he saw.

There was some sort of animal, lying in the leaves. It looked like a small puma, feline face, sleek body, but unmistakably alien due to it’s dark green fur and long tail, something like an opossum’s - slender and hairless. The tail was moving weakly and it’s breathing was laboured, no doubt due to the nasty looking gunshot wound in it’s chest, which was pulsing blood.

“Oh my god, it’s been shot,” exclaimed McKay. He scrambled to remove his pack and pull out his field kit. As John watched, frozen in place by surprise and shock, Rodney tried to stem the bleeding, pressing down on the wound with gauze.

“John, John, help me!”

John startled at McKay’s pleas, unconsciously taking a step closer, but still confused and trying to understand what was happening. He exchanged a look with Ronon, whose angry and puzzled expression indicated he was also wondering what the fuck was going on.

The animal wheezed heavily, then took a couple of laboured breaths before going still.

Rodney’s hands fluttered over the animal’s chest. “It needs the kiss of life!” he cried frantically.

“McKay,” growled Ronon, “what the fuck are you talking about? Just put a bullet in its head and let’s get out of here.”

Ignoring him, Rodney moved the animal’s head back, straightening its neck and put his hands around its muzzle. Then he leaned forward and put his mouth over the animal’s nose and started puffing into it.

John felt like they’d just moved from surreal to outright fucking insane. Rodney McKay, germaphobe Rodney McKay, was putting his mouth on some unknown wild animal’s nose and breathing into it like he was blowing up a balloon.

The animal’s chest puffed with each breath McKay blew into it, but otherwise didn’t stir. John could see that the wound was no longer bleeding and he finally found his voice.

“Rodney. Rodney, stop. Stop, it’s gone.”

Rodney stopped blowing, and sat back, breathing heavily. He pulled his hands away from the animal’s snout and bowed his head. John couldn’t see his face, but his shoulders started shaking and for one surreal moment John thought Rodney was laughing before he heard a small choked sob.

“Are you… are you crying?!”

Rodney answered with another choked sob. His shoulders hunched further and he leaned over the animal, stroking it lightly.

John looked over to Ronon again, and they exchanged a brief wordless conversation, the result of which seemed to be that Rodney was John’s responsibility, and he better be the one to sort this out.

“I’m heading back to the gate,” muttered Ronon and stalked off.

Rodney didn’t stop petting the animal, but his sobs were getting louder and more out of control. John stood behind him, not sure what to do.

“I’m sorry John, I’m sorry. But I just couldn’t.. I can’t… I can’t do this anymore. Everyone keeps dying, everything I touch… everywhere we go, people are dying and it’s my fault. The Replicators killing humans, Gall, Collins, and now Teyla’s gone…”

Rodney looked up at John, his face stained with tears. “I just wanted something to live, John.”

John felt smote by Rodney’s miserable expression and words. He’d forgotten that Rodney, even with everything they’d been through, all the dangers he’d braved and miracles he’d achieved, Rodney wasn’t a soldier, hadn’t had a soldier’s training in compartmentalization and dealing with collateral damage.

John fell to his knees beside Rodney and gripped him by the shoulders, forcing him to face him.

“Rodney, Rodney, no… you’re not, it’s not, you’re not doing that. That stuff, it’s not your fault - it’s not. I know, we all do, how hard you work to look after the city, look after us. So many of us are alive because of you, because of the things you’ve done.”

Rodney had calmed a little, but he looked down again, not meeting John’s eyes, and John could see the mantle of misery falling over him again. He shook Rodney, making him look up at him again.

“This isn’t your fault Rodney,” John says, pushing conviction into his words. “It fucking sucks, but it’s no one’s fault, except the damn Wraith and bloody Michael. We’ll find Teyla. We’ll stop the Wraith. We’ll be ok, I promise. There’ll be good days again. You’ll steal Zelenka’s hidden coffee stash. Teyla will make us her tuttleroot soup. OK, so even on the good days not everything will be perfect, but it’ll be OK, I promise.”

Rodney laughed and sniffled, before sighing and looking down again.

“You know, that’s a nice kissing technique,” said John, squeezing Rodney’s shoulder playfully.

“Nice… kissing?”

“That kiss of life you did - is that how you’re supposed to do it for cats?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s pretty clever, knowing that.”

Rodney shrugged listlessly and John cast about for the right words to help Rodney, to make him understand.

“This is my fault Rodney, I forget sometimes that you’re not a soldier, that you haven’t had the same military training as me and Ronon.”

Rodney’s head snapped up and he paled. “Don’t throw me off the team, please John, I’’l, I’ll try harder, I swear.”

“No, no, Rodney I wouldn’t- that’s not what I meant. Being in the military, being at war, we’ve learned how to compartmentalize, how to deal with collateral damage.”

John paused, finding the right words was hard, talking wasn’t exactly his strong suit.

“And, the thing is, I don’t think you could do that anyway, and I wouldn’t want you to. You’re always working on fixing things Rodney, and that’s what we need. And it’s what you need to focus on. In war, in exploration, things go wrong, bad things happen, but more important than what happens is that you keep trying, you keep fighting, you keep pushing.”

“It’s the fight that’s important Rodney,” John continued, looking down at the alien puma. “And you kept fighting, that’s what matters.”

Rodney looked down at the animal, his expression still sad, but calmer than before, and John sighed in relief that his message was perhaps getting through. A thought occurred to him, one that might help Rodney get some closure.

“Hey,” he asked, “Remember that planet with those funny wild chickens that barked like a dog, and the forest had those trees kinda like redwoods?”

Rodney looked at him, startled at the segue. “Uh, PGN-334,” he answered.

“I remember being at the top of that hill, we were sitting on that rock, watching the sun set over the trees, it was really peaceful. Felt like the perfect place to rest, like nothing could trouble you there.”

John leaned down and began to stroke the puma. “We could take her there, bury her up on that hill - she’d have that beautiful sunset to watch every day.”

A small, hesitant smile blossomed on Rodney’s face. “Yeah, yeah, that’d be good,” he said.

“OK, Dr Dolittle, help me wrap her up and I’ll carry her to the gate. You can dial up PGN-334, we’ll have the funeral, and then back to Atlantis, beers on the pier for the wake.”

It was the work of a few minutes to clean up the body and wrap the animal up in the thermal blanket from McKay’s first aid kit. John hoisted the small bundle up in his arms and Rodney collected his kit and John’s P90.

“Thank you John,” Rodney said, focusing his attention on packing up his kit. “I, uh, really appreciate it.”

John smiled, glad to see Rodney coping better, and reflected that this was one personal coping mechanism he needed to use more: looking after his teammates and making sure they were ok. He should probably tap Ronon for a “training session” tomorrow, and let Ronon therapeutically beat the shit out of him. Alien puma funerals were shaping up to be the easier form of therapy.

“No problem buddy, no problem at all.”

 

* * *

 

John drained the last dregs from his coffee cup and leaned back in the chair, his spine audibly cracking. It was late at night and the mess hall was empty except for himself and one of the kitchen staff bustling around in the galley, cleaning up after a long day.

John rubbed his face tiredly as his thoughts drifted back to Ronon, still in isolation and suffering through Wraith-enzyme withdrawal after being kidnapped by Tyre and tortured by the Wraith. John had spent hours watching Ronon go through the agony of withdrawal - screaming, shouting, struggling against the restraints, himself unable to do more than just bear witness to his friend’s suffering. It had left him feeling sick and dirty, like he was violating Ronon’s privacy. In the end he’d left, Teyla too, unable to watch any more, but not willing to go to bed while his teammate suffered like that. So here he was, in the mess hall at a quarter to midnight, reduced to actually doing his paperwork. It was his own act of suffering, performed in solidarity.

The silence of the mess hall was disrupted by the entrance of McKay, rushing in and making a bee-line for the sandwiches and snack food perpetually laid out. Halfway there he spotted John and almost tripped himself over windmilling his arms and shouting.

“He’s awake!”

Energised by the good news John stood up and rushed over to McKay.

“Ronon’s awake? And he’s OK?”

“Yes, yes, yes - I was talking to him, he was wiped out from the last fit, and I thought, well it works for coma patients, so I was sitting next to him and educating him about Beethoven, and Bach, and Wagner’s Ride of Valkyries, I think he’d quite like that piece, I must see if I can find a recording - and of course, then I got into my own experiences learning (and mastering!) the piano as a child, but of course, that all came to nothing despite my aptitude and my fingers being so slim and nimble-”

“Rodney!” 

Rodney had kept moving the whole time he was relating his story, picking up two trays, handing one to John, and loading them both up with sandwiches, muffins, fruit, and pudding, until they were overloaded and John could finally get a word in edgewise.

“Oh, oh, yes, so: he woke up! He wants to punch something, probably not me,” Rodney nervously glanced around as if Ronon were likely to appear and carry out that threat.

“And,” Rodney paused dramatically, “He said he was hungry!”

John laughed. “Well, sounds like the big lug is gonna be ok then.”

“Yes,” beamed Rodney, “I found Jennifer and told her, and then I thought I would get him some food. Do you know if there’s any of that prune juice left? He’s liked it ever since I told him it was a warrior’s drink and, if my personal experience with enzyme withdrawal is anything to go by, he’s going to need it. I was backed up for days!”

John blinked at the too much information and nudged Rodney towards the exit, grabbing a bottle of water on the way.

“Jeez, TMI McKay. Leave the prune juice, let’s get this stuff to him for now.”

Balancing the overloaded trays they quickly made their way to the isolation room, Rodney nearly dropping his as he juggled it awkwardly while entering the door code. John stepped into the room, McKay right behind him, to see… Oh.

Ronon was sitting up, gurney adjusted so he could recline comfortably. Jennifer was bent over him, withdrawing quickly from what looked to have been a tender kiss, her right hand cupping Ronon’s head in a decidedly non-medical manner. Well, he never did see this stuff coming, in fact he’d thought…

John turned to look at Rodney and, oh yes, there was that shocked look of surprise he’d expected, and also that look of devastation, of dashed hopes. John had had his suspicions that Rodney was nursing the beginnings of a crush for Keller recently, and the look on Rodney’s face confirmed that hypothesis beyond a doubt.

John did what he did best: forged on through the whole situation with affected indifference and pretended obliviousness at everyone’s awkwardness. He welcomed the big guy back to the land of consciousness, handed over the food and orchestrated Rodney into doing the same. Then, after some manly arm slapping and a few “good to have you backs”, he manoeuvred Rodney and himself out of there and to a secluded balcony. 

Rodney slumped down on the bench seat and stared moodily out over the water. John wandered over to the railing and leaned on it, waiting for Rodney to break the silence.

“Do you think it was nice kissing? I mean, it looked nice, very romantic, and I haven’t, not for so long.” Rodney raised his hand, touching his fingers to his lips, as if trying to remember the sensation of being kissed.

John shivered, it was a cold night, and he walked over to the bench, sitting next to Rodney, moving closer to him to lend a little warmth, and to rouse him out of his reverie.

“I wouldn’t know buddy, bet it’s been longer for me than it has for you.”

“It was stupid to even think…” Rodney looked miserable again, stumbling over his words, overcome by emotions.

God, John hated this crap. Talking about feelings, talking about _these_ kinds of feelings in particular with Rodney, always felt like trying to navigate a minefield without a map.

“Nah, buddy, come on, don’t think like that. You guys would have been a good match. I mean, you’re both smart, geniuses in your respective fields, and she’s a ballbuster like you, once you get her going, and you both did the lonely childhood genius thing.”

“She chose Ronon, though, in the end,” muttered Rodney, “Can you blame her, what with the tall, and the big muscles and the pretty face?” Rodney waved his arm around, illustrating Ronon’s impressive attributes with expansive gestures.

“Compared to, well, this,” he continued morosely, poking at his soft belly. 

“That’s because all the muscle is in your brain,” John slapped Rodney’s hand away, forcing his attention onto John and locking eye contact to drive his point home. “And _some of us_ are too busy using that brain to save the city and everyone in it to spend time running laps, or sweat in the gym or beat up marines.”

John paused, watching McKay’s face to see if his point had hit home. He could see self-pity and ego warring in McKay’s expression, before - ah, there it was - ego won the fight.

“Well, that is true,” replied Rodney, loftily, and John could feel the last of the tension and misery leaving his body from where they were pressed together on the bench seat. John smiled and leaned over, knocking his shoulder into Rodney’s.

“In fact, I think I know exactly where that genius brain muscle should next be directed,” John grinned and waggled his eyebrows, startling a laugh out of Rodney.

“Stop that, you look like you’re having a stroke. What are you talking about?”

“Well,” drawled John, “there’s this _other_ genius, who might have reflected on a conversation in the past about how suitable Atlantis wide corridors and smooth flooring would be for racing RC vehicles, and _that genius_ might have placed an order and accepted delivery of two such vehicles a few days ago when the Deadalus was here.”

John couldn’t help grinning at the almost childlike glee evident on Rodney’s face, heartbreak and Keller clearly forgotten.

“Sadly they’re in pieces,” John continued, “and need some engineering expertise.”

“Well, you’ve come to the right genius, one of those degrees is for mechanical engineering, you know.” Rodney leapt up, grabbed John by the wrist and dragged him back inside.

“Yes, I know, Rodney,” he grinned, allowing himself to be drawn along by the impatient McKay. Knowing Rodney they’d be up all night building and then “improving” the RC vehicles. And after that, they would test them, of course. And then John would be too tired to do all that damn paperwork, and he’d have to delegate it to Lorne instead. What a pity. Ah well, that was just the price being a good friend, wasn’t it?

 

* * *

 

It’d been a busy day - the Daedalus departing after being parked on the East Pier for the last week, delivery run completed and some new personnel arriving. No doubt McKay would be bitching come dinner time about being dragged down yet again by the intellectual deadweights they kept sending him. After watching the Daedalus take off from the Control Room balcony, they’d wandered back inside for a meeting with Woolsey to discuss orientation for the new arrivals and the helioastronomy department’s solution for the the upcoming sunspot activity.

John had been day-dreaming about what newly-delivered treats might be for dinner while McKay waffled on about the drone modifications they’d made, when suddenly all hell broke loose in the Control Room.

“Report!” ordered John as they spilled out of the meeting room. McKay moved over to the long range scanners where a bright red flashing display showed a Wraith cruiser, in system and cutting a path across the sun’s ecliptic direct to Atlantis. McKay turned and looked at John, eyes wide with shock.

“Where the hell did it come from?” John wondered out loud.

“Is the Daedalus still in system?” asked Woolsey, turning to Sergeant Banks.

“Yes sir, I have a communication from Colonel Caldwell: they have spotted the cruiser and are intercepting.”

John joined McKay over at the scanning station, watching as the Daedalus moved in-system, closer to the sun, on a direct intercept course. The Daedalus, even Atlantis herself, was more than a match for one Wraith cruiser, but everyone was aware of how important it was to prevent that cruiser from returning to its hive ship and reporting not only Atlantis’ return to the Pegasus galaxy, but its new location as well. John itched to go grab a jumper and join the fight, the forced inaction chafing at him, but he steeled himself to remain at the scanners and watch as the ships approached one another and engaged in battle.

Everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief when the cruiser’s dot disappeared from the screen. John turned to Banks, expecting her to relay a message from Caldwell, when beside him he heard McKay make a small noise of puzzlement. A frown passed over Amelia’s face and John started to get that feeling of dread crawling up his spine.

“Sir, the Daedalus is reporting some damage from the engagement… their shields are down… drive not responding. They are attempting to use thrusters to get a stable orbit around the sun.”

“Shit!” exclaimed McKay, and turned back to the display, his hands moved rapidly over the controls as he plotted out the Daedalus’ course.

“Oh, no, no, no, no, no!” he muttered, then turned to John. “The sunspot activity! Normally, that close, with shields, it’d be tricky, I wouldn’t want to be there, but they’d be able to repair and move further out in time. But now, with no shields, that close, they’ll be irradiated before they can manoeuvre away!”

“Okay, can we evacuate them with the jumpers?” he asked, but McKay just shook his head and said quietly, “No time.”

Suddenly Rodney did his little hand-clicking thing and turned back to the display, hands moving rapidly as he made new calculations.

“The new drones, the ones we were going to launch on Tuesday, they’re already loaded onto a jumper, if we can fire them at just the right spot… yes, there.”

“OK, so I’ll go grab the jumper and fly there asap-” John started to move towards the jumper bay.

“No, no, no - you can’t, it’s too dangerous, the time any pilot would spend there, we haven’t adjusted the jumper shields, they aren’t strong enough… you’d absorb too much radiation and die!”

Rodney’s grabbed his arm to prevent him from leaving, then turned back to the display, hunched over his tablet frantically making calculations.

“Let me, let me work something out, if I can get the calculations right, maybe we can send the drone long range, or, or, we can program the jumper remotely, …”

John shook his head, knowing it was futile. He looked to Woolsley, who considered the situation for a moment then gave a small nod.

“There’s no time Rodney, and it’s precision flying work. Someone has to fly it there.”

Rodney was still frantically working on his tablet as John turned and rushed down the stairs towards the jumper bay, heading for Jumper Three, already armed with the modified drones. He’d been ordered on too many suicide missions to ever feel comfortable giving that order to someone else and, really, he was the only one on base with a chance in hell of pulling off the manoeuvres needed and surviving. He’d feel better if it was a snowball’s chance in hell, but that would have been overstating his chances.

“John.”

He stopped just before entering the jumper and turned to find McKay standing in the entrance to the bay. His tablet clutched to his chest, posture tense and rigid, his expressive face awash with misery.

“Don’t go.”

John shook his head, McKay should understand he had to do this.

“If you don’t do it perfectly, if you’re exposed for too long, you’ll get a lethal dose of radiation. You’ll come back here and die.” Rodney paused, looking down. “I can’t compartmentalize that John, I’ll never…”

Rodney’s words choked to a halt and he looked back up at John, misery and despair writ large over his face, his mouth an unhappy lopsided gash. And in that moment John wanted nothing more than to raise his hand to Rodney’s mouth and smooth that unhappiness away. The realisation of what that meant, and of what Rodney’s words meant, sparked like twin bolts of lightning through his body, leaving him breathless and stunned.

He felt a momentary a frisson of uncertainty, of fear, but he knew with startling clarity how he felt and everything was written on Rodney's face, and John just wanted to drink it all in, revel in the simpatico of it and laugh about how it had always been there, growing until now, when it had to be acknowledged. Even by someone as oblivious as him. But there wasn’t time, and he still had to go.

“I’ll come back… Rodney, I promise, I’ll be back.”

It was more than a promise, it was a declaration and John had never felt more hope, more surety. He knew, deep in his bones, down to his soul, he’d come back - because he had to, he wanted to. And he wanted to laugh again, because he suddenly saw, all those other times, all those suicide missions, he’d never really cared if he’d come back from them. But now, for Rodney, he did.

With one last look at Rodney he tried to share that surety, then he turned and entered the jumper, scrambling into the cockpit and securing himself in the control seat. As he flew the jumper up through the iris he glanced down at the bay below, Rodney still standing there, face turned upwards, as he watched John fly away.

He was still there when John returned, safe and whole, not fried to a crisp by solar flares, miracle achieved and the Daedalus crew now safe. John could see McKay slumped against the wall of the bay as he flew jumper back down through the iris. He’d scrambled to his feet by the time John exited the jumper, standing unnaturally still, a cautious look on his face, like he wasn’t sure what was going to happen next.

John didn’t want to wait another moment- he was done with uncertainty, with obliviousness, with denial - he strode right up to Rodney, took his head in his hands and leaned in to press his lips against Rodney’s. There was a moment, a fraction of a second, where Rodney stood there and did nothing, but then suddenly he moved and his mouth came alive under John’s, open and inviting, granting entrance to John’s tongue, while his body seemed to melt and mould itself to John’s, fitting them perfectly together. Just as perfectly as they had on every mission, every argument, every scheme, and every moment where they’d saved each other lives. A warm wave of love and desire swept over John and he couldn’t help responding to the little noises Rodney was making, deepening the kiss, as passion took hold of them both.

Finally he drew back, leaving his hands cupping Rodney’s face. Rodney’s eyes were glazed and he was out of breath.

“Speechless, McKay?” John drawled, smiling at the dazed look on Rodney’s face.

“Uh, good, um, nice kissing, very…. nice,” stuttered Rodney.

John smiled his very best lazy smile and raised an eyebrow.

“So… more then?”

Rodney nodded, dazed look fading a little as he leaned forward in anticipation, and John moved to meet him, pressing Rodney back against the jumper bay wall as he proceeded to show him just how good very nice kissing could be.


End file.
